Wrong To Be Right
by Burnedtoasty
Summary: The man hadn’t even had the decency to go out with a bang – no, instead he had slipped quietly into retirement, leaving that gaping void in the world, in the shape of things long passed.


**Title**: Wrong to Be Right  
**Disclaimer**: _I, in no way, shape, manner, or form, own Spongebob Squarepants, or the characters said series contains. All publicly recognizable characters are copyrighted to Nickelodeon. No infringement intended  
_**Fandom**: Spongebob Squarepants  
**Characters**: Man-Ray, Mermaid Man  
**Continuity**: Post-_Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy III  
_**Warnings**: None  
**Summary**: The man hadn't even had the decency to go out with a bang – no, instead he had slipped quietly into retirement, leaving that gaping void in the world, in the shape of things long passed.  
**Author's** **Note**: Harsh criticism encouraged.

--

This was not how it was supposed to be.

His hair had silvered—no, _greyed_, become flax and limp, luster leeched away in years and inches. The broad shoulders – once so powerful, proud and straight as mountainous plateaus – grown stooped, slumping forward under burdens become too heavy to sustain. Every breath and gesture was riddled with palsy, the tremors rippling down across that rotund belly, where atrophied muscles went to die. His fingers curled against a cold that went deeper than bone, clutching after remembered strength under a quaint quilt, eyes straining after the bright, empty smiles on the television.

He had _liver spots_.

Like, ew.

Man-Ray ducked back under the window, pressing his shoulders firmly against the metal. He reached up one hand to adjust the bucket that had replaced his intimidating visage, the worn handle clanking hollowly at the jostling. No. No, no, no, this wasn't at all what he had expected. It wasn't in the natural order.

The great and mighty Mermaid Man… old? In a retirement home? It was—it was criminal! And not in a good way. Er, bad way. Any way!

Huffing indignantly, Man-Ray, cautiously edged up, just enough to peek in through the charmingly rounded window. The sad image remained unchanged, in all its horror, stationed with quiet contentment before the television. This wasn't fair. How could he fall without Man-Ray? How dare he sink to mortal standards, succumb to the clutches of time? What about all the battles – the constant threat, vigilance, the obsession that only arch-rivals and stalkers could achieve? Didn't it _mean_ anything?

The holes that passed for Man-ray's eyes narrowed. Just how long had he been in that tartar sauce?

The man hadn't even had the decency to go out with a bang – no, instead he had slipped quietly into retirement, leaving that gaping void in the world, in the shape of things long passed. Had forgotten… everything that made him Mermaid Man in the first place. Had forgotten _Man-Ray_, in some dismal hole in the Mermalair, adding insult to injury.

And news had already spread that he, the most powerful and terrible Man-Ray was free once more – slightly incapacitated for a short while and working at the local mini-mart, but free! Ready and willing to start his campaign of evil anew! And there was Mermaid-Man, watching something about a teddy bear softening fabrics.

It was so very unacceptable. And Man-Ray… he could do something about it, couldn't he?

Yes… he had to do something about this. Was it not only right and proper that this wreck of man be reminded of his old ways? Was it not his duty – nay, his _responsibility_, to bring him up to what he once was, an icon, a pillar, a hero?

Warmth plumed up in his chest, tracing his veins in a dark and tangled web – yes, it was his solemn obligation to bring forth this paragon of virtue, build him up to his past glory – and tear him down again. It was just not sporting otherwise. He would remind his errant Mermaid Man of his place, bring back the days of yore, when evil ran rampant and all cowered before the gaze of Man-Ray. Ah, yes, he could see it, in his mind's eyes; how the seas had trembled with every blow, and echoed with howling, manic laughter that chilled even the sturdiest hearts.

Yes, he could do this. He could set everything right—wrong— er, in its proper order. He chuckled, dark and rich and slightly less impressive than usual (curse the less-than-adequate acoustics of buckets), reaching up to remove his most hateful smiley-face name tag. No more need for mini-marts or Margaret the Shift Manager! Time to hang up the apron and take up the disintegration laser!

Naturally, it would all take some doing, some strings pulled and some dark deeds done, but it was all for the Greater Good—er, Evil, and he was sure he still had something lying around the old Lair…

But first, to retrieve his head.


End file.
